All That's Left Behind
by Littleforest
Summary: War is often hardest on those who are left behind to pick up the pieces. In the immediate aftermath of Voldemort's defeat, Harry tries to help his friends deal with the devastation. The question is; will anyone be there to help him? Post-DH fic. Epilogue compliant.
1. The Beginning after the End

**A/N- **Hi everyone! As you can see, this is a post-DH fic, but it won't go all the way up to the epilogue like so many of them do (although it will remain completely epilogue compliant). Updates may not be quick because I do have another story that I'm working on, but this will only be nine chapters long, and although it isn't all typed yet, I know exactly where I'm going with this. It's not really a song-fic, although the lyrics from 'Iridescent' by Linkin Park, that are added to the start of each chapter, seemed to fit perfectly with my story. Hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer- **The entire world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The lyrics at the start of each chapter belong to Linkin Park.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: <strong>The Beginning after the End

_You were standing in the wake of devastation..._

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><p>Harry woke slowly from the dreamless cocoon of sleep, his aching body feeling heavy against the mattress of the four-poster bed. Somehow, even though he hadn't fully awoken yet, he realised that the need for panic had gone. He almost relished the time he took to open his eyes now, knowing that he would not open them and see the inside of that god-forsaken tent or, even worse, a Death Eater pointing his wand at him. The constant fear of attack had finally left him, leaving only emptiness in its place.<p>

_It's over. _

Those two simple words represented so much to Harry; relief, sadness, hope, grief. The short sentence conveyed so much more than recognition of the end of the fighting; to Harry it meant the beginning of his life. So much of his time and effort in the last few years had been focused on bringing about the demise of Voldemort and his followers. So much of his life had been entwined with that of the Dark Lord; from his childhood with the Dursleys to each of his adventures at Hogwarts, Harry had been facing a constant battle to survive because of him. Even his own mind had not been free from Voldemort's influence. But now with Voldemort dead, Harry finally had a chance to do more than simply survive; he had a chance to live.

_It's over, and yet it's all just beginning._

His eyes now fully open, Harry blinked as he realised that it was still dark. It had been dark when he had finally gone to sleep as well, so the lack of light in the dormitory momentarily confused him. Lying on his back, still dressed in the clothes he had worn in the battle, Harry raised an arm and glanced at the watch that had once belonged to Fabian Prewett. Harry was surprised when he saw that it was only five o'clock in the morning. Despite the hour, Harry felt fully awake.

As he sat up, he finally took in his surroundings and found that he was sat on the bed that had belonged to him during his sixth year at Hogwarts, his final year before he had gone on the run. Last night he had gone up to his old dormitory on auto-pilot, the exhaustion leading the way. Now, as he stretched his aching muscles, he realised just how eerily quiet it was. There was no loud snoring, no whispers, no quiet laughing at a private joke. It felt wrong somehow, like some part of the past had been lost to him. He knew he would never live here like that again, would never again experience the life of a student. Too much had changed. He had changed.

The silence told him that he was completely alone in the room, and for a moment he wondered where everyone was. It took him a second to remember that Ron was likely to be with his family, and Hermione was likely to be with Ron. They had both walked up to the common room with him, none of them needing to speak, but the new couple had made it clear that they were not going to separate simply by their body language alone. When Ron had announced that the Weasleys had been allocated a classroom where they could set up camp for a few days until everything was sorted, Harry knew that they would both be heading straight there. Harry, on the other hand, simply bid them goodnight and trenched tiredly up to the dormitory. He didn't want to intrude on the family's grief.

He had enough of that himself.

Now, as he sat on the four-poster bed, staring unseeingly at the wall in front of him, Harry thought back to all the deaths that had occurred in order to ensure that this was indeed a victory and not a defeat. The cost had been high.

_Too high, _Harry thought to himself.

The list of the dead stretched far longer than those who had been lost in the Battle of Hogwarts. He had never even had the chance to know his parents, their deaths occurring when he was just one year old, but as long as he could remember, he had always grieved their loss. However, since that day he had lost so many people that were close to him, who had mattered greatly to him, that now the grief threatened to overwhelm him. All he could think was that they should all be there to celebrate the victory with them. If he had just been stronger, quicker, would they have lived? He had been blaming himself for the death of Sirius, his Godfather, since the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts, but now he added countless more names to that list: Dumbledore, Snape, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Colin...

It tore at his heart to think about the sacrifice that they had all made, just so that he could carry on breathing. So that he could have a life.

With great difficulty, he pushed his depressing thoughts aside, and slowly rose to his feet. He had to help with the rebuilding. He had to feel useful, do something. Harry's chest throbbed painfully when he moved, but he simply chose to ignore it. He had no intention of looking at the damage that the Killing Curse had done. He didn't want to know if he had yet another scar; his collection was far too big already, especially after this year. He refused point blank to tell anyone that it was bothering him either; they all had enough to worry about, and he didn't need their pity.

_I don't deserve it either, _Harry thought.

He refused, however, to feel any pity for himself either. A little pain was the least he could endure for all those who had given their lives for him. He would bear it, as he had had to do with so many other burdens, and he would bear it with as much dignity as he could muster. The dead deserved that much from him. They had given him a second chance at life and he would not waste it; he would not allow himself to sink into depression. He would make something of his life; he would make their sacrifice worth it.

Harry felt that if he focused more on this thought then the guilt he felt over their deaths lessened a bit. Or was he just burying it beneath thoughts of penance? He didn't know, he thought, as he slowly made his way down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, carrying the rucksack that, at the moment, contained all his possessions including both his wand and that of his mentor. He made a mental note to himself to fulfil his promise soon and return the elder wand back to its original owner; its rightful place.

Despite the early hour, Harry was surprised to find the common room empty and the fire out. He made his way across the floor, past his and Ron's favourite armchairs by the fire, and exited out of the portrait hole, idly wondering about the absence of the fat lady. He had been too tired last night to notice that the common room door had been left unguarded. Now he was simply too hungry to care.

As he walked through the hallowed and empty halls of his first real home, Harry thought about all that had changed since he had first laid eyes on the magnificent school; his haven. Some of the walls he passed were black with ash, others were crumbling to the ground. Hogwarts was damaged, that was for sure, but she was still standing. She had resisted, giving her very essence for the protection of people contained in her walls. In a way, she reflected the people themselves. They had suffered, and with time they could heal, but things would never be exactly as they once were. Memories of war would not quickly be forgotten, and the absence of loved ones could never be filled. Harry knew he was damaged too, not just physically either, and he wondered if the things that now haunted him would be as easy to repair as the castle's walls.

Lost in thought, he was surprised to find that he was now standing outside the entrance to the Great Hall. Realising that it was only very early in the morning, he suspected that there wasn't likely to be anyone around, much less any food that he could eat.

_I could call Kreacher. _

Harry was certain that the old elf would be quite willing to help him get something to eat and maybe even a change of clothes that hadn't spent the last few months in Hermione's handbag. However, before the idea of calling Kreacher had even fully formed in his mind, his attention was drawn into the Great Hall itself, and to an unnatural sound emitting from it. He realised that the doors were partially open and that the sound that he could hear was sobbing. Someone was in there and they were clearly distraught. He moved towards the door slowly, unsure whether or not he should enter or go for help, when he heard a half-strangled cry.

"It's all my fault! They _should _hate me!"

He opened the door quietly, decision made, and walked decisively though the entrance. When he looked around for the sound of the cry, he was surprised when his eyes focused on a red headed figure sat at the Gryffindor table. It was Percy and he was alone in the vast empty room.

Realising that it was too late to back out now, Harry walked calmly over to sit opposite from Percy. Without saying a word, but noticing the Weasley's gaze on him, he saw a plate of uneaten sandwiches and immediately grabbed one. It was stale, but to his starving stomach, it was heaven.

Percy, as he watched Harry devour the sandwiches, seemed to re-gather his senses. He took in the figure before him, noticing his messy black hair was covered in mud and what seemed to be blood, his face still carrying the bruises and scratches of battle. He hadn't even changed his clothes, let alone had a shower. Harry looked a mess...

"How are you holding up, Percy?"

The question had surprised Percy. He had been lost in his thoughts, and had actually been on the verge of asking Harry the exact same thing; he wondered how Harry, looking like he did, was still standing.

"I'm alright," replied Percy, his puffy red eyes negating the truthfulness of that statement.

"You know, there _was_ a reason I didn't ask if you were alright," said Harry calmly, with a knowing look in his eyes that would have reminded Percy of Albus Dumbledore, had his eyes been raised to notice it.

"I mean, how can anyone be alright after all this?". Harry gestured towards the tattered and scattered tables that lined the Great Hall walls, his gaze pausing at the floor where a number of the dead had been put at rest during the battle. They had moved on now, in both senses of the word.

"I doubt anything is going to be alright for a while, but we'll get there in the end,' Harry continued, resignation and determination warring with each other in his expression.

"How do you know?" asked Percy, desperation adding a strange tone to his voice.

"Because we're going to make it alright," replied Harry, with such certainness that Percy was momentarily shocked into silence. Harry took quick advantage of this, asking the question that had been nagging at him since he had first seen who it was who had been so distraught.

"Why aren't you with your family, Percy?" His voice was stern and yet kind. Harry had an idea as to the answer to that question, but he wanted to hear it from Percy. When Percy didn't reply, his eyes firmly fixed on the table in front of him, Harry continued.

"You know you're being selfish, don't you?" His tone was still kind and yet Percy still flinched at the words, his angry gaze rising rapidly to meet Harry's calm one. Harry felt no guilt over saying this; he knew he was being harsh, but he was also certain that he was right.

"How dare you! I'm doing them a favour by staying away!" Percy replied angrily.

"Why?" Harry asked steadily. "Why wouldn't they want you with them?" Harry had an idea where this was going, and he didn't like it.

"They hate me!" Percy shouted, his voice already hoarse from crying.

Harry fell silent. This was exactly what he had been afraid of. He had known that Percy would be blaming himself, was grieving Fred's loss as if it was his fault, but Harry had been there after the battle, had seen the grieving Weasleys, and he knew, as much as he knew anything, that they would never hate Percy. He was a part of their family, and Harry was sure that they would be devastated if Percy abandoned them again, even if it was because of the incorrect assumption that they wouldn't want him.

"They don't hate you," Harry stated calmly, and even though he hadn't spoken to any of them since the battle, he knew his words were true.

"They should! They'll never forgive me!" Percy cried distraughtly.

"They will," Harry said firmly.

"Well, I don't deserve their forgiveness!"

"It isn't about what you deserve Percy." Harry cut in, his tone still stern. "They're your family, they'll forgive you regardless. They've already lost one son and brother, don't make the same mistake! Fred has given you a second chance now, don't you dare waste it!

Harry, on seeing that Percy was about to protest, quickly continued, his voice steadying as he made an effort to calm down.

"You can wallow in self-pity and self-hatred all you want, Percy. But know this: I've been there. Trust me, you will never be able to change what happened, no matter how much you want to. You can scream at the world, or you can refuse to ever talk to anyone ever again, but nothing you ever do will ever bring Fred back!"

"I'm not saying this to hurt you, Percy," Harry continued. "It's just...well...you can't let their sacrifice be in vain. Your brother gave his life so that you could have a second chance with yours. You only have two options: take the chance or don't. But if you turn away from your family now, when they need you the most, you will regret it. And trust me, _nothing _hurts worse than regret, not even death."

At this point, Harry's thoughts fell immediately to Snape, and the intense regret that had caused a man to give up his happiness in order to atone for his mistake. In the end, death had been an escape for the potion's master. A relief from the pain of regret.

Harry made a move to get up and leave, but remembering something that Dumbledore had once said to him, Harry spoke once more.

"Don't pity the dead, Percy. Pity the living, and those who live without love. The dead are gone, and I'd like to believe they're in a better place, having their next great adventure. It's the living that need you now."

And with that Harry got up off the bench and quietly left the empty hall, leaving Percy alone to his troubled thoughts.

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><p>AN- So how was it? Hope you enjoyed it!


	2. The Best of Friends

**A/N- **So here's the second chapter finally! It's much longer than the last one, so I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer- **The entire world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The lyrics at the start of each chapter belong to Linkin Park.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: <strong>The Best of Friends

_...And you were waiting on the edge of the unknown..._

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><p>With his immediate hunger satisfied, Harry wasn't sure what to do next. As he quietly left the Great Hall and made his out onto the grounds of Hogwarts, he gingerly pressed a hand to his chest in the place where the Killing curse had hit him. It was still really painful but Harry, who was quite used to pain and injury, didn't mind it that much. All that the pain was doing at the moment was reminding him of the walk into the forest, and his last thoughts before he had expected and prepared to die; Ginny. He needed her; this war had proven that to him at least. He decided, as he left the castle and began to walk across the grounds, that he would do anything to get her back. If he was to move on, to live, he needed her by his side, and he needed to be by hers.<p>

_Not now though, _Harry thought, remembering the duty he still had to do. First he had a promise to fulfil.

He slowly walked across the quiet grounds of Hogwarts, making his way towards the place where he knew his mentor's body lay in rest. Or had least where it _had _lay in rest until Voldemort had disturbed his peace. Harry wanted to restore it back to how it should be. Dumbledore deserved that much at least; Harry, who perhaps understood Dumbledore better than anyone else except for Aberforth, was certain of that.

Even though he had known what to expect, when he finally reached the grave Harry saw, with anger, that the surface had been badly broken and that Dumbledore's body had been left open to the elements. Harry slowly made his way forward, apprehensive all of a sudden. Hermione's words came back to him suddenly, spoken at a time when he had been thinking about going after the elder wand himself.

"_You could never have done that," _she had said. _"You couldn't have broken into Dumbledore's grave."_ But even as he remembered this, he thought back to the silent response that he had had at the time; he had been much more scared that he had misinterpreted the living Dumbledore's intentions than he had been about disturbing his grave.

Now the trust he had shown in Dumbledore's plan had been proven right. Even though Dumbledore had made numerous mistakes, and his final plan hadn't gone quite as it had been intended, Harry knew for sure that _none_ of them would have been able to survive this war had it not been for the venerable Headmaster's involvement. He alone had been the one to discover Riddle's secrets, and he alone had been the one to leave Harry with the only way to defeat him. If Harry really thought about it, he doubted that anyone else would have been able to connect handsome orphan Tom Riddle with the most evil Wizard of all time. And how fatal a mistake that would have been; the key to Voldemort's weakness was to be found in his past and in the person he was. As Dumbledore had made clear, Voldemort was Tom Riddle, and Tom Riddle, despite his appearance, was still human. He could be defeated. And with Dumbledore's guidance, even from beyond the grave, Harry had been able to finally finish him for good.

Dumbledore had known him, had cared for him, and now Harry had the chance to repay the Headmaster for all he had done, not just for him but for the entire Wizarding World. Despite what people often thought, Dumbledore was not all knowing, and not all powerful; he was not a God. It was a mistake that people had often made when they looked to the Professor for all the answers to life's problems. Harry, himself, had made that mistake often enough. But no man is perfect, and looking at Dumbledore's still, pale face, Harry thought all the mistakes that the man had made, all the guilt he had felt even to the very end. Yet despite all that, Harry could feel nothing but gratitude for the old man that he come to think of like a Grandfather, because without him, all would have been lost.

"Thank you, Sir," Harry whispered as he placed the Elder wand back in Dumbledore's cold hand. "We couldn't have done it without you. _I_ couldn't have done it without you."

And with that, Harry took his own wand and muttered the spell that would restore the tomb to its proper condition. To Harry, Dumbledore had just looked asleep and now, as the stone knitted together again, he was at peace once again. Slowly Harry began to walk back the way he had come, and for the first time since the end of the battle, a lone tear rolled down his cheek.

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><p>After fulfilling his promise at last, and having done it without any witnesses to guess the significance of the action, Harry felt lighter and yet also a little empty. The hardest thing for him now was actually to try and decide what to do next. He had his whole life ahead of him, and for the first time in his memory, Harry had an unencumbered future. He had no duty, no destiny to contend with, and yet now he felt lost rather than free. Having been dealt a bad hand for so much of his life, now that he had the opportunity to do whatever he wanted he found instead that he didn't know what he wanted at all.<p>

When he had ever thought about his future it had always involved, in one way or another, his best friends, Ron and Hermione. They had been with him through everything, both the good and the bad times, and somehow they made everything worth it for him.

_I need them, _Harry decided. _No matter how much things change from now on, no matter what I do, I need them._

Harry was suddenly filled with an intense longing to see their faces. He needed to know that they were okay. In the last year, he had seen little of anyone else apart from those two, and it was the close quarters that they had shared recently that made him long for them now. He was quite sure that no one else would understand how he felt at present apart from them. In reality, his destiny had always been theirs as well.

Harry continued across the grounds of Hogwarts, the cool morning air dissipating slightly as the sun began to rise. He looked up at the castle that had become his home and he marvelled at the way in which, despite the damage it had sustained, Hogwarts still managed to fill him with a sense of awe and wonder. As his gaze moved to the castle entrance, Harry noticed two figures coming out of the giant doors. It was Neville and Luna. They weren't same as Ron and Hermione to him, but if anyone came close to them it was these two. Ginny was different than all of them, of course, for reasons Harry wasn't quite ready to acknowledge yet. All his friends meant a great deal to Harry, and after all his recent experiences, he intended to tell them just how much.

Harry made his way over to them, and he knew that they had spotted him because he saw Luna wave at him and Neville quicken his pace.

"Harry!" Neville exclaimed as they finally reached each other. Luna immediately pulled Harry into a hug and Neville patted him on the shoulder. After a prolonged moment, Luna finally released him and Harry was able to get his first real look at them since the end of the battle. Luna looked like her old self again, if a little bit tired. Neville, on the other hand, still carried the bruises and cuts that he had worn proudly even before the battle of Hogwarts, but most of them seemed to have undergone a great deal of healing in a short space of time. On the whole he looked a lot healthier than Harry had perhaps ever seen him; Neville's self confidence seemed to have sky-rocketed in Harry's absence. When Neville caught Harry staring at his healing injuries, he moved to explain.

"Madame Pomfrey works wonders doesn't she?" he said, gesturing towards his face. "She says that I'm going to be completely healed within a week." As Neville spoke his voice seemed harder than Harry had ever heard it, reminding him further of the intense changes that had occurred in the year that he, Ron and Hermione had been on the run. For some reason, Harry felt extremely saddened by that.

"That's great, Neville," Harry said, forcing a smile onto his face.

"You don't look very good though, Harry," Luna told him, speaking for the first time. "Have you seen Madame Pomfrey yet?" Harry was suddenly conscious of the fact that not only had he _not _seen Madame Pomfrey, but he had also neglected to have a shower when he had first woken up this morning. His hunger had been so great that he had not even bothered with a change of clothes. Luna just stared at Harry intently when he didn't answer immediately, and Harry once again got the feeling that his strange friend knew a lot more than people gave her credit for.

"I haven't had time yet," Harry replied, shrugging. "I feel fine though. I'll see her later." He felt bad lying to his friends but he really wasn't ready for anyone to see his chest. Harry knew, without looking, that there would definitely be a mark there and as soon as someone noticed it, it would create questions that Harry just wasn't ready to answer yet. The affected area on his chest was still extremely painful, but Harry didn't think that it was that much of a problem. He'd been in pain before; he could handle it.

"Why are you out here alone, Harry? It's very early, you know," Luna asked, changing the subject even though it seemed to Harry that she hadn't bought his excuse. Harry just shrugged.

"I woke up early but no one else was around, so I thought I'd go outside to clear my head a bit," he answered. It was another lie, but Harry knew that he couldn't risk anyone finding out about the Elder wand. He trusted Neville and Luna beyond any doubt, but his experiences with Rita Skeeter had taught him that you could never be too careful.

"I was looking for Ron and Hermione though," Harry continued, hoping to stall any further questions, especially from the extremely curious Ravenclaw. "You wouldn't happen to know where they were, would you?"

Luna looked at him intensely once again, but this time it was Neville who answered.

"Last time I heard, they were with the rest of the Weasleys, camping out in Professor Trelawney's classroom." At Harry's disbelieving look, Neville moved to explain.

"It was one of the only undamaged places in the school that was big enough for all of them to camp out. They could have gone to the Gryffindor common room, but they asked for some privacy and McGonagall didn't think that they would get any there. A few families are holed up in the other dormitories but we left our old dormitory free; we figured that you could do with some privacy yourself. It was the least we could do."

"You didn't have to do that," Harry said, already feeling guilty about wanting some space when there were so many families grieving who could have done with a nice place to sleep.

"Harry, you killed Voldemort," Neville replied disbelievingly. "I reckon we'd do anything for you at the moment."

"I couldn't have done it by myself," Harry said uncomfortably, shrugging off the compliment. When he saw that Neville was about to protest, Harry interrupted him.

"No, I mean it," Harry said emphatically. "If it hadn't been for the D.A. and the Order, I wouldn't have even got _close_ to Voldemort. I'm so proud of the D.A. and Neville, I know that your parents would be proud too, if they knew. You told me once that you didn't know why you were picked for Gryffindor. Well, I reckon now everyone knows."

"You've become very wise, Harry," Luna said, when it became clear that Neville couldn't speak in reply.

"I don't think so," Harry replied quietly. "I just think I've seen a bit too much of life. I guess I've had to learn the hard way what's important and what isn't."

Luna, yet again, looked as though she didn't quite believe him, but she seemed to let it go for now.

"Come on, Neville," she said, "let's take a walk. I think Harry wants to go and find Ron and Hermione now, but he's just too polite to say so." She took Neville by the arm and began to pull him away.

Harry stayed where he was, however, and watched them as they walked away, arm in arm. Things were changing, Harry knew, but he could only hope that they would change for the better.

"Thank you!" Harry called as he watched them make their way across the grounds. They seemed to hear him because they both turned around and nodded at him. He nodded back and started walking along the path that would take his to the castle entrance. Luna was right, he still really wanted to see his best friends, but he found, as he walked though the giant doors and into the entrance hall, that he already felt a little bit less lonely.

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><p>As he made his way through the damaged castle corridors, he noticed that people were starting to stir. In all his years at Hogwarts, he had never before wished more intensely that he had his invisibility cloak on him. As he continued his trek people would point and stare. Every time someone noticed him, they would grasp his hand and thank him profusely over and over again; he would see mothers and fathers who had lost their children, and yet they smiled at him and thanked him for everything. They had lost everything because he could not defeat Voldemort sooner, and yet they still had nothing but gratitude for him. Didn't they know that he couldn't have done it alone? That they owed their lives to so many people, not just him?<p>

With great difficulty, he pushed these thoughts away, and allowed them to thank him, to hug him and to shake his hand. He had told himself that this would be a new beginning, whatever that meant, but as he became more and more aware of the devastation left behind after Voldemort, it was becoming harder and harder to believe that they could have a better life. So much had changed. He had changed. He knew that he wasn't even close to being alright, but as the people saw him, he knew that they would have to believe he was. They needed to see that it was over. If he, The Man Who Defeated Voldemort, was doing well and had seemingly moved on, then they would undoubtedly follow his lead. For the first time since the beginning of this war, he realised just how much he meant to people, and how much the image of The Boy Who Lived inspired people to carry on.

_Now I know how Dumbledore felt, _he thought wryly as he made his way up the long staircase that led to the Astronomy tower. His duty had not ended with the defeat of Voldemort; he knew that now. He now had a responsibility to ensure that the world that meant so much to him recovered from Voldemort's damage. As long as he could project a positive image, he knew that people would take comfort from him; that they would see hope for a better future. He would do it, because felt he owed each and every one of them as much as they believed they owed him.

As he made his way up the ladder that would take him to the Divination classroom, Harry apprehension grew and he couldn't seem to prevent his beating heart from thudding loudly in his already painful chest. What if they hated him? Harry, despite his stern words to Percy earlier, couldn't help the guilt that crawled uninvitingly up into his mind. It was his fault that Fred had been killed. Of course, he knew that it was largely down to Voldemort, but he couldn't escape the feeling that there was something he could have done earlier to prevent all this.

_I should have been stronger!_

Taking a deep breath, he opened the trap door and forced himself to enter the stifling classroom where the Weasley's had taken up residence. Pushing his guilt aside, quite apart from wanting to find Ron and Hermione, Harry found that he needed to see that the Weasley's were together and that they were coping. If they could find a way to move on, even after what they had lost, then he would find a way too, no matter how difficult it was.

"Harry!"

Before Harry could even move, Mrs Weasley jumped off the chair she had been sat in and immediately engulfed Harry in a heart-warming hug that threatened to break his ribs. The pain in his chest intensified as she held him close, and he found that he couldn't prevent the gasp of pain that left his lips.

"Harry?" asked Mrs Weasley concerned, her eyes wide as she immediately pulled away.

"M'fine." Harry gasped as the pain flared once again. "Just a bit sore after yesterday."

Harry took a deep breath, and upon finding that the pain was lessening now, he took a moment to take a closer look at the Weasleys. Both Mr and Mrs Weasley stood close together, in constant contact as if they each believed that they would lose the other if either of them let go. After releasing Harry, Mrs Weasley sat down once again, and Mr Weasley joined her on the sofa, his hand encased tightly around hers. They were tired, Harry noticed, and both held the unmistakable signs of grief. It seemed to go much deeper than any physical pain; it was as if their very souls were crying out in anguish.

Around the classroom, which did appear to be in a relatively good state compared to the rest of the castle, Harry could see signs that reflected its current use. There were a number of sleeping bags scattered across the floor, and the usual signs of the classroom's intended use, such as the remainder of the ridiculous glass orbs, had been pushed into one corner, forgotten.

Harry's eyes searched the classroom, hoping to see Ron and Hermione, safe and together as they should be. They were not there though, and he reluctantly brought his attention back to Mr and Mrs Weasley who had identical expressions of worry on their faces.

"Are you alright there, Harry?" asked Mr Weasley, his voice betraying how tired he was.

"Yeah," Harry replied quietly, "I was just looking for Ron and Hermione."

"Oh, sorry dear," said Mrs Weasley. "You just missed them, I'm afraid. I think they were going to go down to the Great Hall to help with the rebuilding. That's where Bill, Fleur and George were heading."

"Oh," said Harry, unsure of how else to reply. He wanted to leave now, to find his best friends, but he was unsure whether Mrs Weasley would be as keen to let him go. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a rattling of crockery coming from the corner of the room.

Harry spun around; his hand already on his wand as he turned to face whatever had caused the sound. It seemed that, although the danger had largely passed, it would take a while for Harry to be able to relax completely. Surprised by what he saw, he lowered his wand immediately.

It was Percy; he had come back.

"Hi Harry," Percy said quietly, his voice still hoarse from their encounter earlier this morning. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

It was then that Harry realised that the sound he had heard had in fact Percy, using the mugs that had been so customary during any Divination lessons that focused on the art of reading tea leaves. Harry couldn't help but think that their current use was a lot better than the purpose they had served in the past.

"No thanks," replied Harry, trying to keep the surprise from his voice.

"Harry was just looking for Ron and Hermione," said Mr Weasley, looking confused for a moment by Harry's reaction to seeing Percy.

"I think they've gone down to the kitchens," replied Percy absently, as he carried two steaming mugs of tea to each of his parents.

"I should probably head down there then," said Harry. "Before I miss them again."

"Alright dear," said Mrs Weasley, fondly, but with a trace of sadness in her voice. "Oh, and we'll let you know when we're going to leave for the Burrow, so that you have time to pack." At Harry's confused face, Mrs Weasley continued.

"You're coming home with us, Harry," she said, somewhat sternly. "Now is a time for family."

Harry felt affection surge through him as he looked into the faces of his surrogate parents, who had always been there for him, when his own had been unable to. Harry simply nodded in reply, unable to put his affection into words, and made his way to the ladder that would take him back to the corridor. Before he left, he turned to look back and saw Percy with his arms around his mother, comforting her as grief seemed to overcome her once again. Percy caught his eye, and to Harry's surprise nodded to him, as if acknowledging that Harry had been right in what he had said in the Great Hall. Harry just nodded back, a small smile finding its way onto his face, despite the grief that still enveloped him.

Yes, it would be hard to recover, thought Harry as he made his way back down the ladder, but together, as a family, he knew they would be alright.

* * *

><p>On his walk to the kitchens, Harry thought about the rebuilding that they would have to go through, before the world was as it should be again. It was not just Hogwarts that would need attention and hard work, but the Wizarding world itself. The damage that Voldemort had done was not just on the surface, but was engrained in every aspect of their lives.<p>

Lost in his thoughts, he was surprised to find that he had already made it to the entrance to the kitchens, and he quickly tickled the pear and made his way inside. Even if he didn't find Ron and Hermione here, he could at least find some more food. The stale sandwiches from before had done little to satisfy his appetite.

He needn't have worried though, because sitting there, right in front of him, were his best friends. Ron, unsurprising, was stuffing his face with every food that he could get a hand on. Hermione simply looked on fondly, content to take a bite on a sandwich every now and then. Harry noticed that, despite their efforts at eating, both were tightly holding hands, clearly reluctant to let go, even for a second. Harry smiled, and walked further in, clearing his throat to make his presence known.

"Hi," he said, but didn't get much further before he was tackled rather forcibly by Hermione, as she jumped up off the bench and practically ran towards him.

"You're awake then," said Ron bluntly, although it was clear that if it had not been for his male bravado, he would be clinging to his best friend as well. "Didn't bother with a shower though. You stink." The chastisement was somewhat ruined when a grin started to spread across the red head's face, replacing the obvious signs of grief that had been there before.

"Git," Harry replied fondly, although this was muffled slightly by Hermione's hug.

"Are you ok?" asked Hermione, pulling away from Harry so that she could inspect him properly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied. "Hungry, though."

They sat down at the table then, Ron and Hermione immediately taking seats next to each other, with Harry sitting opposite them.

"The house elves really outdid themselves this time!" said Ron cheerfully, food spraying out of his mouth as he tried to eat and speak at the same time.

"Ronald Weasley!" exclaimed Hermione. "Did your mother never teach you manners, or did you just completely ignore her?"

Ron evidently tried to reply at this point, but instead starting choking on the food he had been trying to eat. This only served to add to Hermione's anger at the red head's lack of manners.

A smile made its way onto Harry's face as he listened to the argument continue to develop between his two best friends. He had come here with thoughts of the future; hoping to find out what to do next in his life. Really, he had come for reassurance, and though not in the way he had expected it, his best friends had provided him with exactly what he needed.

Yes, the future was uncertain, and yes, their lives would not be easy for a long time yet, but at the moment, Harry was just content to sit here with his friends, his family really, and just be himself. Not a hero and not a victim. Just Harry.

For Harry, that was more than enough.

* * *

><p>AN- So was it worth the wait? If you've got time, leave me a review and let me know what you thought!


	3. The Burden of Power

**A/N- **Hello once again! I realise that this chapter has been a long time coming, but I did warn you in the beginning that my focus will be more on my other fic. I'm back though, and I haven't fogotten about this. I hope this newest chapter is enough to get you all to forgive me. I'd love to hear from you, to see what you think about it, and whether or not it was worth the wait!

**Disclaimer- **The entire world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The lyrics at the start of each chapter belong to Linkin Park.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: <strong>The Burden of Power

_...With the cataclysm raining down, insides crying "save me now"..._

* * *

><p>When Harry, Ron and Hermione finally left the kitchens, it was in much higher spirits and with fuller stomachs, all silly arguments forgotten.<p>

They walked slowly down the corridor, side by side, each lost in their own retrospection, and each reluctant to allow reality to invade upon the bubble they had been enjoying in each others' company only moments before. However, as they made their way quietly towards the Great Hall, the work that still needed to be done unwillingly eroded their good moods and replaced them with anxiousness and trepidation.

Each battered wall reminded them of the fight that had occurred only hours before, and each stain upon the hallowed stone left them reeling from the memories of lost ones whom they would never see again.

"Have you spoken to Ginny yet, Harry?" asked Hermione tentatively, interrupting the sombre silence as they paused for a moment outside the Great Hall doors.

"Erm, not yet," said Harry feigning nonchalance, even as his fiercely beating heart betrayed the intense emotion he felt when he heard her name.

"How's she doing?" he asked Ron, trying to avoid the unconvinced look that Hermione was shooting his way. His casual attitude clearly hadn't fooled her for one moment, but Harry felt grateful that she seemed to be refraining from confronting him about it.

"Not great," Ron replied with difficulty, apparently trying to swallow the grief he felt whenever Fred's name was in the offing. "She was really close to the twins."

Neither Harry nor Hermione knew what to say to this, but apparently Ron didn't expect an answer. Instead Hermione grasped Ron's hand, reassuring him that they were there for him, and he nodded gratefully before turning back to Harry to offer him a tentative and sad smile.

Although he looked fine on the outside, Harry couldn't prevent his gut from clenching painfully at the reminder of Ginny's closeness with the twins. He had been so tired after the battle, so thoroughly worn out, both physically and emotionally, that he had barely spared a thought for his ex-girlfriend. It had been no better since he had woken up, because he had been so shocked by the grief and devastation that they faced in the weeks and years to come, that he could barely hold his own thoughts together, let alone comfort someone else.

The truth was, Harry had been so worried about the state of the Wizarding world that he had forgotten to worry about some of the people in it, and he felt devastation threaten to overcome him as he realised how much he had neglected the people who meant the most to him.

It was more than simple neglect, though, Harry thought as he tried to avoid the concerned looks that he knew would be coming from his friends.

If Harry was truthful to himself, he had been hiding in the dormitory, the Great Hall, the kitchens, even beside Dumbledore's tomb, all the time trying to avoid thinking about the devastating aftermath of war that each meeting made clear.

Most of all, even though he was confronted with the devastation with every step he took through the hallowed halls, he had refrained from thinking about the events that had led up to the battle, the battle itself, and the intense losses they had all suffered from it.

He had concentrated on the belief that they needed to be fixed as a nation, whilst all the time, resolutely avoiding any thoughts as to why they needed fixing at all. He had pushed the memories away, in much the same manner as he had dealt with his guilt; all the time believing that the past was irrelevant. That the only thing that mattered now was the future; _the living_, as he had told Percy so confidently.

It was only now, as he was confronted by his failures in dealing with the events, that he realised just how much he avoided thinking about it at all.

It was true; he had seen Percy, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Neville, Luna, and now Ron and Hermione, but he knew he was still hiding from them in the only way that truly mattered.

He was cutting himself off.

He knew it, as surely as he knew anything, and yet he could not bring himself to open up to them, to let them in on the storm of grief that was currently brewing in his chest, nor could he admit to the almost overwhelming physical pain that he had felt almost from the moment he had woken up, and that he knew had to be serious even though he insisted the exact opposite to anyone who asked.

Ginny, though...Ginny would know almost immediately that something was wrong. That he was hiding something.

Ron and Hermione knew it too of course, Harry could tell, but they would not confront him over it; not until he was ready.

Ginny would.

She did not have the experience that Ron and Hermione had, but nor did she fear how he would react.

He could not hide his feelings from her, and so, almost subconsciously, he had been avoiding her so that she would never know. It was stupid, and selfish, and ridiculous, but in the chaos surrounding the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat and the rebuilding that had already begun, Harry had clung to the idea that everything would be alright. He had presented a strong, recovered figure to the wizarding world, because he knew that was what he had to be.

He had to be strong, and yet Ginny had always been able to undo that about him. Harry couldn't fake being strong when he was around her.

Now, he realised, she did not need him to be strong, but it was quite possible that she needed him, and he knew for certain that he needed her.

His chest throbbed painfully as he thought about how hard it must be for Ginny, not only to lose a brother, but one she felt so close to, and he had to turn his head away from his best friends lest they see the discomfort, pain and grief clearly etched on his face. They were worried about him, he knew; he could see the concern in their identical expressions, but he pushed the hurt down, and forced himself to hide his true feelings. He did not need their concern or their pity. He needed them to be exactly as they had always been; he needed them to be his friends.

And now, he knew he was needed too, even if Ginny would never ask for it. Harry knew that he was not the only one who felt as if they always had to seem strong.

Ginny's experience with Tom Riddle in her first year had seen to that.

"Where is she?" Harry asked the two of them rather abruptly, spinning around to see them once again. The guilt of hearing about the pain that Ginny must be going through clenched his heart, and he had to know she was alright. Even if she decided to reject him for having waited too long, he knew he had to see her.

"I think she's with McGonagall," replied Hermione uncertainly, having been thrown slightly by the complete change in Harry's mood. "I think they were talking about what's going to happen next year; McGonagall wanted Ginny's opinion since she was here last year. Why?"

Harry didn't answer. Instead he simply turned away from the Great Hall, barely looking back to mutter, "I'll see you two later", before he strode purposefully through the corridor, nervousness overpowered by determination and need as he made his way ever closer to Ginny.

* * *

><p>When he reached the door to the Headmas – <em>Headmistress' <em>office now, Harry reminded himself yet again – he paused for a moment, his nerves rapidly increasing the longer he stood there.

Would she reject him?

His deepest, most intimate dream, one he hadn't even told Ron and Hermione, although he was certain they had already guessed, was that once the war was over, he'd be able to have a life, and a family. The fact that he wanted this future with Ginny had not changed once in the past year, despite the fact that they had broken up, and had barely spoken to each other since then.

But what if she didn't feel the same way? What if she had moved on?

Harry ran his hand angrily through his messy hair as he sighed in frustration at his own doubts. He had come here on a whim, barely taking a second to think about anything other than the fact that Ginny needed him, but now he realised that he had allowed his rashness to overcome him.

Harry's shoulders slumped as he chastised himself for the weakness he was showing. His doubts were threatening to overcome him, and he forced himself to repel the distinct urge to run and hide in the nearest classroom and never come out.

He was a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake, he told himself, mentally berating his own mind for allowing the fear to overcome his sense; this wasn't about him, it was about Ginny needing some comfort.

"Potter?" came a voice behind him, the Scottish accent immediately telling him who had caught him in his moment of weakness. Harry raised his head and shook himself slightly, squaring his shoulders as he attempted to show a bravery and confidence that he did not feel.

"Professor," Harry nodded, averting his eyes as he felt McGonagall's stern gaze on him. She had always seemed to know when he was lying, or at least hiding something from her, and although he greatly admired that about one of his favourite teachers, at the moment, he did not want her to see the truth; that he was hurting as much as any of them were.

He had to be strong.

"Potter, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice taking on an unusual tone of concern as she studied him.

"Nothing Professor," Harry replied quickly, trying to hide his grimace as he straightened his shoulders and turned his attention away from her office door to face her. Then before she could refute what was clearly an obvious lie, Harry quickly continued.

"Actually Professor," he began, "have you seen Ginny? I was told she was here and I really wanted to find her."

Harry clenched his fists in an attempt to prevent his nervousness and anxiousness at the request from becoming completely transparent to his old Head of House.

"I'm sorry Mr Potter," McGonagall replied gently, and it was clear from her expression that she hadn't been fooled by his apparently nonchalant attitude. "I finished speaking with Miss Weasley a few moments ago. I believe she has returned to the Great Hall."

Harry turned dejectedly, his heart hammering in his chest as he experienced the feeling of failure wash over him once again. He turned slowly away from his ex-Professor, steeling himself to make the journey back to the Great Hall to finally find the person he most wanted to see.

"Actually, Mr Potter," began McGonagall, stopping him in his tracks, "have you got a moment? I require a word."

"Now's as good a time as any, Professor," he replied, allowing himself to latch onto the excuse whilst trying to ignore the fact that he was clearly avoiding the impending talk with Ginny.

Fear had won, for the moment.

"Come on in then, Mr Potter," McGonagall said gently, steering him towards the staircase and up towards her office.

Maybe he could hide a little bit longer.

* * *

><p>"Have you thought about what you would like to do, once the new term begins?"<p>

The question surprised Harry, and was enough to shake him out of his depressing thoughts. From the moment he had entered the old office, he had been confronted by memories he would rather forget; losing Sirius, learning about Horcruxes, announcing that Voldemort had been defeated and then enduring the applause and praise that he did not believe he had earned.

Now, as he forced himself to look in the tired, and yet sympathetic eyes of his old Head of House, Harry realised that he had allowed himself to wallow in the bad, whilst ignoring and pushing aside his duty to everyone who had survived.

He could endure a little pain, a little grief, but his self-chastisement could wait until another time. Now he was needed, and he forced himself to remember what he had been telling himself from the moment Voldemort had fallen for the last time; now he had to be strong.

He couldn't sink into depression. He had to make the sacrifices of the many people who had died worth it.

"Actually, I'm not sure," Harry replied honestly, looking up to meet the eyes of McGonagall. "Everything's changed now."

She studied him closely, taking in the appearance of one of her favourite students. He had changed drastically in the time he had spent on the run. The signs were clear for her to see that his year had not been an easy one; tiredness lined his now stubbled face, and new scars met old ones to create the image of a warrior, one that looked wrong on a visage that she knew to be only seventeen.

He was still so young, and yet his eyes...they held such pain. McGonagall could tell that Harry was hiding his grief, his pain, but the strength that her student was exhibiting gave her hope that he would be alright. That he would get through this.

"You are not coming back to Hogwarts," said McGonagall quietly, and it was said as a statement rather than a question. Her pupil had changed too much to come back to this school. There was nothing else he needed to learn here. Nothing else that they could teach him.

"No, I don't think so," replied Harry, shaking his head. He didn't know exactly what his future held, but he was sure that it did not involve completing his education. Maybe he would speak to Kingsley about becoming an Auror...

"I thought not," McGonagall said sadly, taking a moment to look to the portrait on her wall, of an old Headmaster, her old friend. She felt so woefully under-qualified to fill his shoes, and just looking at Harry, and at how lost he seemed, her doubts rose up once again. She did not know how to help him.

She did not know how to help any of them.

She pushed her doubts aside though, knowing that she had work still to do.

"I'm not sure if anyone has informed you," McGonagall began uncertainly. "There will be a short memorial service this afternoon, where we will gather in the Great Hall to remember all those lost in the final battle."

"Oh," said Harry, his voice tightening slightly. He knew he had been avoiding his grief but the fact that he would be confronted with it in such a public setting frankly frightened him. He would lose control, he knew it.

"They look up to you now, Mr Potter," the Headmistress continued, not surprised or bothered in the least by Harry inadequate reply. "I can see it. They turn to _you _now, just as they did to Albus when he was still among us. We need you, now more than ever."

She followed his gaze as he looked over to Dumbledore's portrait, his sad but determined eyes confirming that her words had been heard, and that he had taken her hint.

"I'd like to say a few words," Harry said, his voice stronger as determination outweighed his grief and fear. It would be difficult, but if they were truly going to overcome this battle, this war, then they had to know what led them to it in the first place. And since Dumbledore was gone, no one else knew the whole story.

No one but him.

McGonagall nodded her acceptance, the pride clear in her glistening eyes.

"It is a hard burden to bear," she said. "I am proud of you, more so now because I know you can bear it. They would be proud of you too."

She did not have to say who she was talking about. It was clear that she was referring to everyone who had ever loved him, and everyone who had since left him, and he looked up at the words, offering his Professor a grateful and sad smile. She understood, perhaps better than anyone, the position he was in.

They were both trying to fill the space that someone had left behind.

"You can bear it too, Professor," he said suddenly, his tone full of understanding as he looked towards one of his favourite Professors with only the utmost respect for her.

McGonagall looked surprised but grateful as she held his gaze, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

"He would be proud of you too," Harry continued, nodding towards the sleeping Dumbledore. He smiled at her. "I know we all are."

On a whim, he reached across the desk and grasped her hand, offering his support in the only way he knew how at the moment. The gentle contact seemed to undo her, and the tears began to fall unwillingly down her aged face.

He patted her hand and stood, nodding to her once again. He knew, instinctively, that she would want some time alone to grieve. It was the least he could give her after everything she had given them.

He walked slowly through the door without turning back, but before he closed it behind himself, a grief-stricken voice interrupted him.

"Thank you Mr Potter."

"You're welcome, Professor," he replied, closing the door behind him quietly.

He left then, wandering down the corridors idly, lost in thought. Ginny would have to wait, his feelings would have to wait.

Duty was upon him once again, and this time, the importance in his actions was clear. If they were to create a safe world worthy of the sacrifices that had been given to make it possible, then it was up to him to start them off on the right path.

* * *

><p>He had agonised for hours about how he would address the people who were turning up to the memorial service. He avoided Ron and Hermione, the Weasleys, and especially Ginny, choosing instead to occupy an abandoned but undamaged classroom in the hope that he could gather his thoughts enough to make a coherent speech.<p>

He had changed, eaten, and finally showered, all whilst agonising about what he was going to say, and yet the answer still had not come to him.

Now, as he sat in his seat in the Great Hall, avoiding the concerned looks that his friends kept shooting to him, he still didn't know.

As the service continued, he didn't have much time to consider the matter, and Kingsley's words washed over him. His brain worked frantically, trying to come up with some way to do what he knew had to be done. Dumbledore had always made this sort of this look easy, and Harry had never missed the man more. He would have known exactly what to say, and exactly the manner in which to say it. Instead, Harry felt as if he was a drowning man at sea, desperately searching for a float in the vast ocean.

There was no easy answer, no rescue from his fate, and it was not long before Ron was nudging him to get him attention, and he was walking shakily up to the front, taking his place behind the podium. He cleared his throat nervously, well aware that he was only seventeen and was about to attempt to make his first foray into leadership.

He had never felt so unprepared for anything in his life.

As Harry stared out across the sea of faces, each of them giving him their full attention, he suddenly knew how he had to start. The grief was clear on each face he encountered, but so was confusion and shock. It was as if most people could not believe what had happened, did not understand why they had lost their loved one, when only days ago they had been happy and alive.

He knew that this speech would likely go down in history, forever immortalised in the pages of the history books of the future, never to be forgotten. The pressure caused his throat to dry up, but he gathered up all his courage to do what he knew only he could do. Certain things needed to be said, and the impact wouldn't be the same if it came from anyone else. He had a chance to set a much needed precedent for the new society they were trying to build; he had to make each and every word count. Clearing his voice, he began to speak, his head held high as he tried to inject confidence into his words.

"I've never been much good at speeches," Harry began as he surveyed the crowd of people in front of him. "I've always been much more comfortable with taking action. Of course, that didn't always work out for the best." At this, Harry gave a wry smile to Hermione, who nodded up at him in return.

"You see, this war has always been about so much more than our actions, or the actions of those we've been fighting against." As he glanced up, he saw a few surprised faces in the crowd, but he carried on undeterred.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful to those who gave their lives for this cause. We can _never_ truly repay those who helped us win this war. But this war was about more than that. It has _always _been about more than that."

"Do any of you know _why _Voldemort did what he did? Why he killed so many people? Why he even started this war to begin with?" Harry asked the crowd, his voice rising as his emotions took control. "As much as he may have seemed it, Voldemort was no monster; he was a man. An evil man, but still a human being."

"He was born a human and he died a human. Voldemort's real name was Tom Riddle." The crowd seemed to gasp as one as the shock of this statement sunk in.

"He was born to a witch mother and a muggle father. Lord Voldemort was a half-blood," Harry continued, fully aware that the silent crowd was riveted to every word he spoke.

"When his father abandoned him, and his mother died, he was left to grow up in a muggle orphanage. Like all of you, he received a Hogwarts letter, and at eleven years old, he walked through this very hall. Some of you may have known him. Some of you may have even liked him. He was handsome and he was helpful; a model student. In his final year he even became Head Boy. No one knew what he would later become. No one _could_ have known."

"Voldemort was once just a boy, not a monster. He was Tom Riddle, the orphaned half-blood. But don't you see?" Harry asked rhetorically. "All of you sitting here were scared of Voldemort. _I _was scared of Voldemort. But not one of you would have been scared of Tom Riddle. He changed himself, distorted himself, made himself less than human. He changed his name so that one day people would fear to speak it."

Harry paused for a moment, giving the crowd some time to let his words sink in before he continued, "And we did. For good reason as well; he murdered so many innocent people, and he started the cycle of hatred that almost lead to the destruction of our world."

"But did none of you wonder why he did it? You feared what he had become, but did any of you stop and wonder how it was that a monster like him had been created in the first place?" He looked over at some of his friends in the crowd and saw the confused expressions on their faces. It seemed, just by glancing around, that no one had truly questioned what had driven Voldemort to kill in the first place.

"It wasn't hatred of muggles." Harry stated calmly, and there were a few gasps upon hearing this revelation. Harry could hear some muttering in the crowd, but he carried on regardless. This was important; it needed to be said.

"Lord Voldemort didn't murder all those people because of some messed up pure-blood ideal. He hated his muggle father for abandoning him and he hated all muggles because of his neglected childhood, but mere hatred wasn't the reason that Riddle became Lord Voldemort. Hatred wasn't why he became a murderer." Here Harry paused again, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. He knew the importance that his next words carried and he needed to make them count.

"It was power," Harry continued. "Tom Riddle wanted to be the most powerful wizard in existence, nothing less. He wanted to be unbeatable, invincible, even immortal...and so he killed. He murdered all those who stood in the way of his quest for ultimate power. He collected followers, those blinded enough by their hatred of all that they didn't understand, and they murdered on his behalf. Riddle made them fear him as much as we ever did, and he did it all for power."

"And do you know what?" Harry questioned the crowd. "We gave that power to him. Albus Dumbledore once said that the fear of a name only increased the fear of the thing itself. Well, we feared the name he had given to himself, to the point when people were no longer brave enough to even speak it. We feared the monster that Riddle had become, even to the point where our Minister refused to accept Voldemort's return because he was blinded by the fear of what that could mean for his peaceful society."

Harry looked up at this point, and caught the eye of ex-Minister Fudge who was stood to the side of the main seating. He looked devastated, his expression one of complete remorse. Harry was not about to relieve him of that. It was Fudge's burden to bear, for it had been his mistake that could have cost them everything.

"Our society's fear gave him that power. We cannot let that happen again!" Harry banged his fist on the podium in front of him to emphasise his words.

"A great man once said that we always have a choice between doing what's easy and doing what's right. We won this war because in the end we did the right thing. It would have been easy to try to run and hide, as some people chose to." At this Harry noticed Horace Slughorn shift uncomfortably in the crowd, but Harry didn't acknowledge it. In the end, Slughorn had stayed to fight the people that he had run away from for so long, and Harry could do nothing but respect that.

"Or," Harry continued, "any one of you could have given into his regime, as some people did." His thoughts at this point turned to the Ministry, and all those who had turned a blind eye to the changing policies simply because they were too scared to resist them.

"But you didn't. Those of us who fought, those of us who resisted; we did the _right_ thing. Fighting wasn't easy, and the cost was high, but it was the_ right_ thing to do. We nearly lost this war because some people chose to do the easy thing. It would have been the right thing for Fudge to have accepted Riddle's return as soon as he had been notified of it." Harry glanced at the ex-Minister in the crowd, and saw tears running unchecked down his face.

"We should have been prepared but instead Fudge was scared and he let his fear rule him. In his folly, he chose the easy option; he ignored the signs and for that our society has suffered and people have died. We weren't ready for the war when it came."

"But even despite the mistakes of weaker people, we still managed to defeat Voldemort and his followers. And do you know why?" Harry asked the crowd.

"It was because of our courage. We fought back! We challenged him. Courage doesn't mean that you have no fear at all. I would be surprised if anyone felt truly fearless when they faced Voldemort's army. It _was_ terrifying. True courage is acting in spite of your fear. It's about doing what you believe is right, even if it scares you."

"And so instead, _we_ frightened _Riddle _that day." Harry saw a few disbelieving expressions in the crowd but he did his best to ignore them, safe in the knowledge that he was right about this at least.

"All of us; we frightened Lord Voldemort because we challenged him. We united; from squibs to purebloods, from house-elves to giants, we resisted him. Together we were stronger than even _his_ force. We took his power away from him! We had something he didn't, but it was more than that; we understood something that he never could. We had something worth fighting for!" At this statement, Harry heard a few cheers on the crowd and he carried on with renewed passion.

"I saw it at the battle," Harry told them. "Good people died, yes, but they died for us. I know that anyone here would have willingly made the same sacrifice. And that's something that Riddle and his Death Eaters could never understand. Their loyalty was born out of fear and hatred; our loyalty was born out of love."

"If we are going to start again," Harry continued, trying to calm his emotions enough to speak, "if we are going to rebuild after this war, then we need to make sure that we don't make the same mistakes that we have done in the past. We _must _learn. We _must _remember. We've been given the gift of a second chance. We can't let our prejudices or our fears destroy it. If we are to start again, then we must remember why we all fought in the first place, and why we eventually won; it was our courage and love that saved us. If we can remember that as we try to move on with our lives, then no Tom Riddle will ever again be able to become Lord Voldemort. Remember the dead, but most of all remember the living, and remember why it is that we live.

"We fought for each other", Harry emphasised. "We would have _died_ for each other! Now we must_ live _for each other as well. We will _never_ forget this war, but we need to live and love in the present or all hope for a future will be lost. The spirits of the dead live on in us; our memories of them will make sure that they are never truly gone from our lives. But we _must _make them proud! We have to make their sacrifice worth it! Voldemort never understood the power of love, and we must _never _forget it."

"Thank you."

And with that, Harry stepped down off the platform and returned to his seat, and the applause that accompanied him gave him hope that a better future was not too far away.

* * *

><p>AN- So what do you all think? Too angsty at the beginning? Are Harry's feelings unrealistic, or too changable? How was my writing of McGonagall? What did you think of his speech? Any feedback would be great! Oh, and the Harry/Ginny reunion will be happening soon, never fear!


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